Hard to Breathe
by Crying Sorceress
Summary: [Oneshot] After he left, it was hard to breathe. Written for a challenge. [Reuploaded]


**Disclaimer:** the usual stuff, I don't own HP, JK Rowling does.

**Author's Notes:** This is for a challenge on the forum named Fiction Net. Unfortunately this isn't beta-ed. But thanks for Bekah's help :)

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**Hard to Breathe **

_"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that **take our breath away.**" - Anonymous_

The weather was awfully sultry for the first day of September. It felt so cool in the manor and the feeling of the light-chilling breeze enveloping me felt refreshing. But I was standing on platform nine and three quarters, staring at the ground, incapable to cheer myself up. I knew that with my son around, I could not cry, but now that he was on the train, I could grieve.

Everyone thinks that the Dark Lord is evil, he is wrong and he needs to be dead. But they do not understand that magic should be given to only the special people; the Pureblood, not the Muggle-born. On our point of view, Dumbledore is the wrong person; we are fighting for the good of the Wizarding World. Why won't others understand?

My husband was convicted to go the most horrible place on this planet: Azkaban. He did not deserve it; he only did what was right. I don't understand how the Ministry can be so cruel. I understand that the killings that my husband and his fellow Death Eaters have done are cruel but they were all for a greater good. Why wouldn't they understand? If only they could see it from our view, how the Mudbloods have been taking away the special _privilege _of being a Wizard and turning it into a common characteristic. Soon, the whole world will be full of wizards if this continues.

As I look forward and see the train disappear into the forests, I feel a hot and humid wind blowing my hair. Then I felt my hair tainted with wetness, was I crying? I did not realize. I shouldn't have cried there, in public, right in the train station. I should have been ashamed of myself, but I wasn't. I couldn't take control. Why did the Dementors take him away? My husband didn't deserve it, nobody did. The cruel things that happened in that prison, innocents gone mad, prisoners without souls, he would be hunted for life. And no one could pay for that damage, for taking away my husband and making him soulless.

I slowly strolled to a spot against the wall, away from the few cleaners moping the floor of the platform. I looked up at the clock, the train had left fifteen minutes ago. I should head home. I relaxed my muscles and in a blink of an eye, I felt the cool air surround me again. I was back at the manor, the lonely home that I will have to live in until my son would visit me during his short Thanksgiving break. There was no use to talk to the House-Elves, they are, of course, servants and are only here to cook and clean. They ignore me, and I ignore them.

I could however invite my friends to spend the night chatting, but I decided that it would be useless, they would be mourning too. The reunion would turn into a funeral. Our enemies think that we, followers of the Dark Lord, would never mourn, we would always kill and remain evil. But that is completely wrong, we are human too, with an opinion on how magic should be reserved. My arms were against my cheek, I realized that I became slimmer; I could feel my cheekbones against my cold hands. My feet felt paralyzed by the coldness; I decided to light a fire. As I walked there, I remembered the memories that I shared with my husband in front of the fireplace, talking and enjoying our time. But now, all of that would never happen again. My husband would never speak normally again; he would be lingering in his room because the Dementors would be in possession of his soul.

I took my wand out of my pockets and waved it. Flames began to dance in the big fireplace, and they even lit the room. The ambiance felt warmer, calmer and more peaceful. I sat there, on the couch. I knew that it was made of a soft material, but at the time, it felt as hard as diamonds against my back. Without my husband, everything would be different. Maybe I should have considered finding a job, but who would need me, the wife of a known Death Eater? Fortunately, the fortune that my husband owned was still protected by the goblins from Gringotts.

Once more my thoughts were concentrated on his fair face, his silky hair and his cunning smile. Then suddenly I remembered the last good memory that I shared with him. We sat on our bed, discussing about the future of my son. My husband stopped talking and came closer to me, he wrapped my arms around me and whispered:

"I love you, my dear, Azkaban will not separate us. I will be back. And let us not mourn tonight; let us remember about the good moments that we shared. I will always love you"

I decided to rewind that memory and to play it again, savoring every second of being in his arms as if it was reality. I felt his presence beside me. The couch felt soft again and his face appeared in the fire but it disappeared as quickly as it came, and once again I felt the cold stone against my back. The weight against my heart was unbearable; the world collapsed on me. I let the tears fall, finally. I had tried to hide them behind my fake perfect smile but the time came. I gripped onto the velvet material of the sofa and refused to let go. I managed to see worried looking House-Elves from the corner of my eyes; my vision was so blurry that I did not recognize my surroundings. I bit my lower lip until I tasted blood, but it wasn't enough.

"Lucius. Why?"

I couldn't breathe.


End file.
